Do you know what I realized today.
That I'm unemployed and so I apparently 'do no work." But there will never be a completely finished subway entrance like 96th street station, is because contractors 'do no work'. They don't. They are the biggest bunch of fucking pozers that god has ever created. I say this because of spending time observing them just like gorillas in the mist. Studying them like ants in an ant-farm. Firstly, that too many of them are wearing those orange vests that has emblazoned on the back of it CONTRACTOR. I keep looking to see if there will ever be one that says: SUPERVISOR. I never do. So I see these guys always walking around. I'm, certain that there might be some hardworking MTA workers out there, I just haven't seen you.
Like when I was standing and watching four of these hammer carrying apes carry in a ladder each, set them up no more the a foot apart. Then they all climbed up on their respective ladders, and proceeded to mount a wire up on the ceiling of the platform roof. Now I'm not talking about one of those heavy gauge wire that ConEd uses to power a block-full of homes and tenement buildings. No.
I'm talking about a wire that you would see inside something broken in your house, like inside your Television, or your radio. Yes, those little, thin wires. Four men to tape a wire up on the ceiling. That's some bullshit. The rest...they're walking around with hammers in their hands. I swear, and the place is coming together as slow as a whale coming.
And every time... every time, I'm going to the SHOUT OUT in a hurry, and pressed for time, these hard working fuckers come around with hammers and fuck up the subway. ALWAYS! If I'm leaving with more than enough time, they're not there, and I get to the SHOUT OUT stupidly early. So guess what. I have plenty of time today, and they are fucking with the train lines, so I don't really give a shit. But that's how I came to my observation.
When I get to the platform, the number 1 train is already there, doors opened like a lovers legs. I skip it. I want the express trains, the 2 and 3. I wait on the platform for them. The 1 pulls off. Then, right after the train pulls off there is an announcement that the 2 and 3 are riding on the local track. Now notice, that this comes AFTER the fucking number 1 pulls off. So I catch the number 2 local right behind it and head down to 14th street. Then the L, which doesn't give me any trouble and then I get to OTTO's on time. I set everything up. We have a thin crowd, but that's alright. It makes for a more intimate SHOUT OUT. We get through it with only a few small errors on my part. D2theL is there to help me out on the time so everything is straight. The one biggest error is that I have no poems. I left them all home. So I had nothing to share. Damn!
I finish, and I happened to enjoy it. It was not bad or very hard. It was a thin crowd though, and I didn't joke around with the audience. I just wasn't all that comfortable. But maybe? As time goes on? Who knows? I certainly don't. I'm toying with the idea of doing the show after OBSIDIAN is gone down South for the Winter. Just make it the Hobobob show and that's that. I still have to put it to the test. I'm going to do all of the paperwork for this next show, and if I can do that successfully, I'll just need OBSIDIAN to mail out his portion of the newsletter and we are set.
I ruminate over this I head with T-fuk and D2theL to our favorite pizza joint. I steer clear of it simply because of my diet. If I don't know the calories, I can't eat it. That works for me. It really does. I will clinch his weight this time. That's my greatest plan. Everything takes second priority. D2theL and T-fuk want me to hang out with them in the West Village. I decline. Saturdays are for my long walk. If I stop with the walking I'm going to fail at everything dieting. This cannot be allowed to happen. Plus it's getting colder and the plumage (long ago used term by my friends for women walking around as soon as summer hits, damn near naked.) will not be out for much longer. I hit the bricks, walking my ass off until it hurts.
I make it home eventually, catching the train at 41st street and riding the train with the school kids. Goddamn annoying. Was I that way when I was young? I don't think we were just that dumb to play on the subways simply because they were too dangerous, but then again, little kids today are uncontrollable dumb fucks. They'll play on the fucking tracks if you let them. Dumb sunsabitches. So they are all over the place like spastic horses. Make you want to haul off and smack one or two of them behind their stupid heads and knock some sense into them.
Fuck them dunces. I can't wait to get off the train, out of that station, there are more men walking around with hammers, ain't doing anything though. One is even carrying a cup of coffee. Gawddamn, these guy got some brass balls! They should have another guy walk around with a fucking pillow! I leave the battered hole that they call a station and hike the streets home. My legs are feeling weak and trembling, like the legs of a newborn fawn. I get home and turn on my computer, shut the hatch on the Space Pod and make a carafe of coffee in the food replicator, along with a dinner, chicken Alfredo.
It's good to be in the Space Pod.I take off the helmet and decompress.
It's been a long day....Saturday usually is.
Hobobob
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